


The Battered Knight

by Redbirdblackdog



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book cannon to start, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, Knights - Freeform, Marriage, Mystery knight, Non-Consensual Kissing, Political Alliances, Sansa is 19, Sansa is aged up, Smut, Teasing, melee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22434922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redbirdblackdog/pseuds/Redbirdblackdog
Summary: She sat on the bench and kicked at the snow. Do I even care? I wish I could leave this all behind. She laid back on the bench and looked up into the clouds, the snow softly falling. If I was a bird I could fly away. “Little bird,” she whispered. She had her chance, an age ago it seems... she had her knight and a chance to leave. He’s dead. She’d be dead too. She huffed, “bastard strong,” she said outloud. My septa’s teaching won’t help her win Harry, she’d have to be bold as Myranda and brave as MyaLater in the chapter...She pulls her favor from her bodice, she holds it high like a flag. She is shouting before her mind has made a plan. “Ser... my lord... MY KNIGHT” oh he’d hate that she hums, but she squares her shoulders... bastard strong she thinks.
Relationships: Harrold Hardyng & Alayne Stone, Harrold Hardyng & Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark/Sandor Clegane
Comments: 53
Kudos: 147





	1. What just happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She sat on the bench and kicked at the snow. Do I even care? I wish I could leave this all behind. She laid back on the bench and looked up into the clouds, the snow softly falling. If I was a bird I could fly away. “Little bird,” she whispered. She had her chance, an age ago it seems... she had her knight and a chance to leave. He’s dead. She’d be dead too. She huffed, “bastard strong,” she said outloud. My septa’s teaching won’t help her win Harry, she’d have to be bold as Myranda and brave as Mya
> 
> Later in the chapter... 
> 
> She pulls her favor from her bodice, she holds it high like a flag. She is shouting before her mind has made a plan. “Ser... my lord... MY KNIGHT” oh he’d hate that she hums, but she squares her shoulders... bastard strong she thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hapter has been heavily edited 9/14/2020. I plan to edit the rest before adding the new chapter.   
> 
> 
> The Battered Knight: Chapter 7

Alayne

She was sulking, who did he think he was? Lothor Brune was right Harry is an arse. He called her a bastard, refused her escort, he could rot as far as she was concerned. A brat, stuck up, but who was she to talk. She treated her brother the same... Jon. 

“No” she whispered, Alayne doesn’t have any brothers. She was a bastard herself and no knight will save a bastard girl she’d have to do it herself. She needed Harry, needed him to want her, needed him to marry her. With Harry and the power of the Vale behind her she had a chance to go back home. Right? She didn’t understand, not completely but Littlefinger said... well he said a lot of things. Smile, tease him, Littlefinger said it would work. Harry’s vain, if it’s too easy he won’t chase you. But if the goal was marriage and he thought her unworthy, couldn’t they just tell him the truth? It would be Harry that held a far lower title then Sansa, but Sansa was married to the Imp. How did her life get so tangled? 

She sat on the bench and kicked at the snow. Do I even care? I wish I could leave this all behind. She lays back on the bench and looks up into the clouds, the snow softly falling. If I was a bird I could fly away. “Little bird,” she whispers. She had her chance, an age ago it seems... she had her knight and a chance to leave. He’s dead. She’d be dead too. She huffs, “bastard strong,” she said outloud. My septa’s teaching won’t help her win Harry, she’d have to be bold as Myranda and brave as Mya. 

Taking a deep breath, she raises off the bench and starts for her chambers. Tomorrow she’d have to wear one of her new dresses, lower, more daring then her usual. She’d tease Harry, but she’d have to flirt and fawn over the other knights too. Play to his pride Littlefinger had said, and give your favor to another. 

She removes her dress and changes into her shift and dressing gown. She moves to the window and looks out over the snowy terraced landscape. She sings a sad song about a dark knight that dies to defend his lady. A tear slides down her cheek and she thought the songs aren’t real. She closed the window and lays down in bed and hoping for sleep to take her. 

Harry

How dare Lady Waynwood even consider accepting a betrothal to Littlefinger's daughter, a bastard daughter at that. He knew he’d never be able to marry Saffron, he would soon be Lord of the Vale when his sickly cousin died and she would not be suited to become Lady of the Vale. 

“Oh, my heart it beats for you beautiful Alayne,” Roland sings rather off key. He pushes Harry in the shoulder, “you were enough of an ass I might stand a chance,” Roland jokes. 

“Y-y-you’re just a gr-randson to Waynwood, just a b-boy,” Wallace argues. Turning his body to face his nephew. 

“A boy? Taller then you uncle, and almost two years your elder. Anyway, first sons of first sons come far before fourth sons W-W-Wallace,” Roland mocked. Then he changes his tone, "do you think I could still catch Alayne for that escort? I wouldn’t mind speding a little more time with her.”

Harry scoffs “she’s just a bastard.”

“Not g-g-good enough for you?” Wallace teases. Walking away into the castle. 

Roland quickly follows Wallace. “Then step aside you aren’t the only knight here,” Roland says pushing Harry aside. “You may think her an insult, but I bet there are many who would line up for that prize, don’t be an arse Harry. She’ll only have daggers in her eyes for you now,” he laughs and disappears into the castle. 

Harry kicks at the ground, “she was comely” he admits to himself. "Lovely even," thinking on her long dark hair and bright blue eyes. Good enough for him to marry, never. She is still a bastard. He’d have a go, tumble her, it will work out well. He’d get her in his bed and that alone will prove her unworthiness. 

Alayne 

She wakes with a start. A dream she hasn’t had in so long. A dream about him, her dark not-a-knight. He had his arms caging her in, his body pressing her against the bed. No dagger this time, but he was just as dangerous without it. He would never hurt her though, he had said and she believed it. She knew that truth deep in her bones. She reached up and placed her hand on his cheek, he leaned in for a moment and then was gone like a ghost. Evaporating into the dark like her dream. It left warmth in her like never before. She turns, burrowing her face into the pillow to escape back into the dream, but it is gone. She reaches up and touches her lips remembering the kiss, from another life. 

She huffs and throws back her blankets and set to get dressed. She looks through her dresses, no modesty today. Then a knock on her door and Myranda came bursting in. “Perfect,” she says, “just who I need to help me pick a dress.” 

“What’s the occasion,” Myranda jokes “to turn Alayne to my wicked ways.”

“Teasing,” Alayne whispers with a coy smile. 

“Oh my favorite,” exclaims Myranda! “The red, I insist, with the dark ribbons sewn to the sides, it looks as if a pull from any one of them will spill you from your dress. What a pretty picture that would make,” she reaches in the closet to remove the dress from the wardrobe. 

Alayne blushes, tenitavely she touches the dress running her fingertips along the silky material “it’s not too much is it?” she questions. 

“No such thing,” Myranda replies. “Now off with the robe.” Deftly Myranda helps lace her tightly into the gown. Myranda takes a step back admiring her work with a sly smile. 

Alayne stands in front of the mirror looking at the woman standing before her. The gown makes her blue eyes glow and her skin look like porcelain. The bodice is far lower then any she’s worn before and neck wide enough she feels entirely on display. “They will think I’m wanton,” she declares. 

“They will think you beautiful, and flirt and desire to uncover what that dress hides,” Myranda soothes. 

“There’s not much to uncover,” Alayne jokes, while turning to admire the back. 

“Oh the skin it hides is only part of what they hope to discover Alayne,” Myranda corrects bumping her hip into Alayne’s with a smile. “You’ll have any man you desire,” Myranda chimes in. “Now let’s go to break our fast and see how many jaws you drop!” Myranda giggles out. 

They take off down the hallway on each other’s arm giggling all the way.

\----------

Oh, she’s having fun now. She jokes with Ser Corbrey about knocking Harry in the mud. Laughing he agrees. She rejects Harry’s apology, if it even counts as one. If she’s not a Lady what use does she have for a Lady’s courtesies? Harry can stew. When Ser Roland and Wallace arrive at her seat she knows Harry’s attention will be on her. She jokes and conspires, whispering to Myranda as she flirts with the knights. 

Alayne takes Roland’s arm, she chances a look back at Harry offering him a small smile before she departs. Let him chase if that’s what he wants, this game she can play. 

They all collect in the gardens to socialize. The knights say all the right words and she tries to blush or giggle as appropriate, but it’s all lies and pomp and so very boring. The men begin to make their apologies, exiting the gardens for the yard to practice for the tourney. She tries to remember all their names, and of course decide who she should give her favor, who would aggravate Harry the most. As she admires the view a hand slips under her elbow and slides down toward her hand. She turns to confront who would touch her and met with the cool blue eyes of the arse himself, Harry. 

“What must I do my lady to make it up to you?” He questions. He lifts her hand and meets it with a kiss. “Must I fall on my knees and repent? Must I complete a knightly task to prove my devotion?”

She nearly laughs. He knows the game, he almost sounds sincere but the way his eyes linger on her bust tell a different story. Then she does laugh, “what knightly tasks did you have in mind? Slay a dragon and bring me its head? No, no. Fight for my lands and bring peace to my kingdom? No again. Oh, I know you could break my betrothal with a Lord unworthy of my hand and lead me to my one true love. Oh that wrong too isn’t it?” She laughs. 

“You wound me deeply my lady,” Harry pouts. “I was wrong and rude, why must you torture me so?” He kneels before her and looks up at her looking ever so handsome. His eyes are light blue, his hair is sandy blonde, his face is comely with a straight nose and teeth, but she’s been fooled before. Beauty hides evil far better than scars. 

This is the game though and she’s committed to play. “Then what my lord do you think can mend a girls heart?” She asks.

His eyes look up as she all but hands him forgiveness. Harry replies, “I ask that you sup with me on the terrace here for our mid day meal, and grant me your favor. When I win the tourney I will name you my queen of love and beauty.”

Alayne smiles as him and turns half away as she speaks, “Sup with you I can, but I have promised my favor to another.” 

“Who?” Harry demands. 

She smiles coyly at him now “why a mystery knight of course, or at least a mystery to you.” She reaches then for his hand a places a lingering kiss to the palm of his hand. “I’ll see you at mid day Ser,” she sings at him. “Don’t be late or I may dine with another.” She releases his hand and smiles as she turns to walk away. 

Once he’s out of site she races to Myranda’s room. “I’ve caught him I think,” she squeals gasping. “But now I’m not sure what to do?" 

“Oh Harry will be easy,” Myranda conspires, “listen to all he says, brush your body against him whenever possible and lean in closely to whisper in his ear while giving a clear view of you bodice.” 

Alayne blushes “brush my body against his?” She repeats feeling scandalized.

“Yes, a knee against his thigh, a hand tucking a stray hair behind his ear even your breast touching his arm,” she confirms. “He will notice every touch and it will spur him on,” she explains. “Oh, and a kiss. At least one, many is even better.”

“Myranda!” Alayne scolds, “I cannot do that.”

“Of course you can darling,” she continues. “You let him kiss you, then gently lick the seam of his lips. That’s how you get a man to melt,” Myranda states as a matter of fact. 

“Lick his lips?” She asks and blushes. 

“Oh yes, it is very lovely and reminds men of other things.” Myranda laughs raising her eyebrows. “Also make sure to remind him of other men interested, it makes them bold.”

\---------

He arrives early, blanket and basket of food in tow. He lays the blanket out, and waits. She watches him briefly from the window, smiling at making him wait. 

She climbs the steps coming into his view already with a smile on her face. He meets her at the top of the stair and tucks her arm into his. 

“Did you lose your way?” He asks her. 

“Of course not my lord,” she replies. "I was watching the tourney practice and simply lost track of time. They are so beautiful to watch them practice the jousts you know. All muscle and raw strength... the horses you know.” She says as she nudges him with her elbow. The scowl melting from his face into a smile. 

He leads her to the blanket and she looks at him suspiciously. “I thought we would enjoy the blanket in the sun while it lasts my lady.” He is grinning like he’s bested her. He helps her sit and then sits facing her so very near she can feel the heat of his body.

“How very intimate,” she coos. He begins to reach for the basket and she stops him, “let me serve you my lord.” She reaches over him and he feels her thigh against his side briefly and her chest brushing against his knees. He’s watching her intently as she fills a plate for him, but before handing it over she bites into one of the berries before leaning close to offer it to him. “Do you enjoy the dark berries Ser?” 

She watches him swallow before he responds. “I am not sure my lady,” he replies. He opens his mouth and she places it just beyond his lips. “I can scarce think of anything sweeter,” he says licking his lips. 

He talks and she watches him, listening intently. Her hand comes across to draw swirls on his thigh just above his knee. He’s even closer now, so she presses closer against him. She hears him hum in response. 'Oh this is fun,' she thinks to herself. When she takes a bite of cake she lets a pleased moan escape her, his eyes snap up to her lips. 

“Lovely Alayne you have enchanted me this afternoon, I feel I’m under your spell,” he drawls. 

“Witchcraft is it?” She jokes leaning toward him.

“Must be,” he jokes back. “For how else could you capture me so completely.”

He reaches out and brushes some hair behind her ear. She leans into his hand. He touchs her jaw and tips her chin toward him. He leans forward and she sighs as his eyes meet hers. It is working, the coy smiles the gentle touches... he is here now for her. He is growing bolder but her mind is distracted. She knows he has a bastard already and another on the way. This is not the man she dreamed of, but life is not a song. A kiss she thought, her mother would roll in her grave. Her daughter alone with a man, waiting for kisses. She refocuses and thinks 'bastard strong', she is not a Lady she is a bastard who needs to give to get. 

As he leans in there is a noise, her eyes snap away from Harry and to the road below. She gasps and quickly stands, rushing closer until her body is stopped by the railing overlooking the road. 

“It can’t be” she whispers against her hand. In the procession of knights below was one, black among the grays, large among the small. It is him, she knows it in her bones. Her hand touches her lips as she whispers, "but he is dead." He left her behind and he died. 

She races down the steps of the terrace lifting her skirts. She has to see, to know for sure. 

She’s halfway down and stops on the landing to look closer. The man is tall and broad, dark and ominous. She cannot see his face for his dented helm and large cowled neck but the way he holds himself, his presence... "Sandor," she whispers. 

She pulls her favor from her bodice, she holds it high like a flag. She is shouting before her mind has made a plan. “Ser... my lord... MY KNIGHT,” oh he’d hate that she hums. She squares her shoulders,'bastard strong' she thinks. 

The dark knight turns and looks up. Her dark hair has safely hidden her in the Vale but he sees through the lie, he always did. As their gazes meet she feels warm despite the wind. He nods to her, not breaking the stare. It’s him, it is, she knows it. 

She watches him but the trance is broken as his reigns in his warhorse and disappears under the gates of the lower level. She picks up her skirts and runs down the stairs and across the terrace. She hears Harry call “Alayne” as she pulls open the door, but that’s not her name, not anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is inspired from GRRM excerpt Alayne from his upcoming book the Winds of Winter. Google it it’s great. 
> 
> I own nothing. Just my ow


	2. Dark Corners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sandor” she answers, has she ever spoken his name? “Is it true, are you really here, I heard you were dead” she whispers. She lifts her right hand to his chest, he closes his left around it. He’s solid, he’s present, he’s alive. She meets his gray eyes, dark in the shadow of his cloak's hood. 
> 
> “It’s me Little Bird, you’ve flown so far” he says in a low voice that she can almost feel. “Are you safe?”
> 
> She laughs and it’s bright and bold. When was the last time she laughed for real? “And where Ser is is girl safe in the seven kingdoms?” She jests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 9/14/2020

Alayne

She pulls on her mask to greet these Lords and knights as the enter the hall. She hears all the expected curtsies, and she has all the right responses. It’s all old and rather boring. Her father, no Littlefinger, whispers in her ear when Harry arrives. See fights the urge to roll her eyes. She brightens the smile on her face and turns to greet him. Her dress is new and although that he may not notice that, he does notice the deeper neckline his eyes linger over too long. Play the game she can hear in her head, but she’s so tired. 

“You look beautiful tonight, may I escort you to your seat?" Harry asks. 

She cannot think of a reason to decline so she takes his arm when offered. She is searching the crowd as Harry leads her away to her seat. Sandor won’t be here she is sure, but she can’t help to hope. Hoping? What has that ever done for her? She sits she tries to focus on what Harry is saying and keeping her smile steady. 

Harry whispers in her ear “I swear you grow more beautiful everyday” she nods her head but it fails to care enough to fain a reply. 

She sips at her watered wine but barely eats a bite. Then as if she is waking from sleep she knows Sandor will find her. If I’m alone he will find me, he always has. 

She stands quickly giving her apologies as she leaves the hall. She knows she should tease Harry but she can’t find the strength. 

She is racing down the hall when she hears his gruff voice from the shadow of an alcove. “Little bird?” Nothing has ever sounded sweeter. 

“Sandor” she answers, has she ever spoken his name? “Is it true, are you really here, I heard you were dead” she whispers. She lifts her right hand to his chest, he closes his left around it. He’s solid, he’s present, he’s alive. She meets his gray eyes, dark in the shadow of his cloak's hood. 

“It’s me Little Bird, you’ve flown so far” he says in a low voice that she can almost feel. “Are you safe?”

She laughs and it’s bright and bold. When was the last time she laughed for real? “And where Ser is is girl safe in the seven kingdoms?” She jests.

“I could keep you safe” he growls. Shifting his stance and holding tighter to her hand on his chest. 

She reaches up and cups his cheek, he leans in and closes his eyes. I could keep you safe she thinks, a silly notion but it feels true. “I know Sandor, I know,” she finally answers. He opens his eyes and the air feels heavy around them. Then she hears it. 

Harry calling her, “Alayne.” That is not her name. “Sweet Alayne,” he calls again.

With that it’s broken, the air goes thin she gasps for breath one hand over mouth her other lands on her chest. 

“I’ll find you Little Bird, I’ll come,” as he disappears into the dark. 

She hears Harry’s steps approaching, she wants to run. “Alayne, who was that man?” Harry asks. He stands so close. She does not meet his eyes. 

“What man?” She answers. Feet already moving. She continues past him, never sparing a glance. He was here she thinks. He came. He’s alive. 

If Harry speaks again she doesn’t hear it. Around the corner she takes a breath, and as she closes her door and bolts it, her knees now want to buckle. She falls into her bed and stares toward the ceiling.

“He’s here” she whispers to herself. As she drifts to sleep she wonders if some of the songs are true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to add & edit a lot to both chapters, Alayne’s perspective. Reread if you dare. 
> 
> I own nothing.


	3. Stranger’s Stall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, I bet you’re just the most awful thing on the battlefield aren’t you,” her voice soft and sweet. Stranger nickers softly, nuzzeling her again as she fed him an apple. “Awfully beautiful boy,” she coos, “yes you are sweet boy, a good boy.”
> 
> “Fucking hell’s,” he growls. “He does bite, and kick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again.

Alayne/Sansa

Alayne is up before the sun the next day. She dresses in a dark blue gown with a slight shimmer of silver of mockingbirds fly across the front. Myranda had helped her pick it out last night. Myranda chose it to tempt Harry, but Alayne herself was a little distracted at the time. The bust is so low she blushes as she turns side to side. The silver necklace Myranda insisted glitters and shines, but the way it disappears between her breasts is all Alayne can see, ‘that’s the point’ Myranda would say. She turns in the mirror revealing the black ribbon that laces down from her neck to the lower curve of her back ending in a large bow adding volume to her backside. 

“Use all the gifts you possess,” Myranda declared giggling last night, “It never hurts wrap yourself up like a present either.”

Taking a deep breath and assessing herself in the mirror, “bastard strong,” she says aloud. “Alayne you can make Harry love you,” she says confidently holding her chin high. Her thoughts betray her though... “Sandor,” she whispers. Why was he here? Did he come for her? How did he know she was here? How would she escape Littlefinger? It was like song. No. Only stupid girls believe in songs, she is not stupid, not anymore. 

She felt tears gathering in her eyes but she shook them away. She knows what Harry wants, but she can handle him. Littlefinger told her what he wants, she doesn’t believe him, but he has done so much for her already. Why is Sandor here? She will find him today or he will find her she reasons. This can all work in her favor regardless, Harry seems the jealous type she smiles. The favor... yes... he’s perfect! 

She wraps a fur shrug over her shoulders and looks one last time in the mirror and is on her way. “At least my shoulders will be warm,” she mumbles exiting her chambers. “This dress is just a tool to get what I want,” she reassures herself. 

She wasn’t but three steps out her chambers before she met the first knight, “good morning Ser,” she said with a curtsy.

“Good morning Alayne,” he replies. “Ser Albright I haven’t had the pleasure of introducing myself,” he said with a bow. "You look beautiful this morning, a gift for my eyes.” She notices his eyes follow her necklace down into her bust. “May I escort you to the morning meal?” He offers his arm and a smile. 

“Thank you Ser, and here I was afraid I’d blend into the background,” she jokes. 

“Never,” he says and smiles brighter. 

Sandor 

She is ridiculous, he waits outside her chambers and had to watch her flirt with the knight. He is tucked into the shadows of an alcove, he’d seen her fine. She was a woman now without a doubt. Furs around her shoulders, breasts pressed high, small waist with damn birds darting across the fabric. As she walks away his breath hitches, she is tied tight into the gown nape of neck to sway of her back and right there sat a fucking bow, a fucking bow tying her up like a present. That bow drew the eye to her round ass and he couldn’t take his eyes off it as she walks away. 

Buggering hells he thought to himself. She was taught by the whoremonger Littlefinger, what did he expect? She brought that knight to heel with a well placed word and that fucking dress.

“I need drink,” he mutters to himself, “or to hit something. No I need to break something,” he growls. Stupid dog. He will find her later. 

He collects breakfast from the kitchens and stalks off the tourney grounds. 

He exercises stranger, hacks apart two training dummies and pummels three different knights; one who may or may not been named Albright. He is feeling much better, calmer for sure. He is brushing down Stranger when she finds him. 

“Sandor,” she whispers stepping into the stall with him.

He ignores her. He turns around and starts examining Strangers back hoof. 

”Sandor, I just can’t believe..." She stomps her foot, "are you ignoring me? Fine... Ser.”

“What a beautiful boy you are,” she coos, stepping up to Stranger. Her hand reaching up to stroke his forelock “aren’t you just the most magnificent horse ever.” 

Sandor turns in a panic, “no, don’t...” he corrects, “he bites.” It is too late. She is running her hand across his forehead and the damn horse leans in and nuzzles her chest. “He’s a warhorse, not to be petted,” Sandor growls.

“Oh, I bet you’re just the most awful thing on the battlefield aren’t you,” her voice soft and sweet. Stranger nickers softly, nuzzling her again as she feeds him an apple. “Awfully beautiful boy,” she coos, “yes you are a sweet boy, a good boy.” 

“Fucking hell’s,” he growls. “He does bite... and kick.”

“I guess I’m just good with grumpy ass men... I mean horses,” she smirks. Giving the horse another pat and facing him. Stranger looks back at him too. She narrows her eyes at him, “What’s wrong?”

“Just another beast to wrap around your finger am I?” He growls at her. “Got all your fucking assests on display proper now,” he snaps, gesturing from her toes to her bust. “What’s Littlefinger been teaching you? Huh? Got every knight in the keep looking to win your favor, what’s a dog to do?” He spits.

“Sandor,” she softens, “it’s not like that.” She reaches up to touch his cheek. He bats her hand away. 

“Not a fucking beast to tame,” he growls back. He hears Stranger stomp his foot, “fucking traitor,” he mutters at the horse. 

She steps forward again, right hand over his heart as her left hand cups his cheek. “Not a beast, a man,” she looks into his eyes. He leans into her palm. “A man who has never lied to me, a man who has never hurt me,” she reminds him. 

“But at the Blackwater...” he whispers. 

“You never hurt me,” she reminds. “You only left when I was too scared to go. I came to regret my decision. I prayed for you. I missed you” 

“Not a song,” he whispers. 

“I know,” she concedes sliding her hand down to his chest, “but it could be. I don’t know what to do Sandor. Littlefinger says I need to marry Harry, but I’m still married to Tyrion. But he’s dead, but you were dead. I don’t know anymore.”

“Definitely don’t listen to Littlefinger,” he answers. 

“I know, but he has a plan to get me home.” She questions “I don’t trust him but without him how can I get free?”

“I’ll protect you Little Bird,” he says. 

“You’ve said that before,” she jokes.

“Still true,” he responds. “I’ll compete tomorrow.”

“The winner will become a winged knight is that really what you want? Serving the Vale Lord?” She asks. 

"No. I’ll compete in the melee, winner gets a purse of gold. We can run if we have gold,” he states. 

“Where will go?”

“North? Who’s still loyal to the Starks?” He asks. 

She thinks, “the Manderlays, the Reeds, the Mormonts for sure. Yohn Royce is still loyal to my father here, he hates Littlefinger.”

"Thats where we will start," he offers.

“Sandor,” she whispers still holding a hand over his heart “will you kiss me?” Tipping her chin towards him. 

“Little Bird,” he whines. 

“I dreamed of it long ago,” she whispers, “but I want something real, I want the kiss to be real.”

She’s up on her toes and he leans down. It’s soft and chaste and sweet and more... he starts to pull away. She holds his jerkin and pulls him closer, she licks the seam of his lips and the kiss deepens and he is lost, he is gone, he is hers. His arms band around her on instinct to hold her close. 

“Little Bird,” he whispers at her lips when they pause for a breath. “Little Bird, we have to stop.” Then she groans and his lips meet hers again, frantic and hungry. “Little Bird.” He leans his forehead against hers.

“I know,” she pants out breathless and flushed. “Will you find me, later?”

“Aye,” he responds. 

“Till later,” and with a wave she is gone. 

“Aye,” he repeats. He adjusts his belt and pulls on his mail. He stomps out soon after her, turning the other way on his way to knock some knights down. This time for a different but no less frustrating reason. 

Harry

Where is she? Ser Albright reported, through a broken nose, he last saw Alayne by the stables. So far he’s has no luck finding her. He turns and catches a glimpse of her ducking into a stall. 

“Alayne,” he calls ahead of him, “Alayne.” He walks to the stall door and finds her plaiting the mane of a large black cursor. He sees her favor wrapped around the horse’s leather bridle.

“So this is the man who stole your favor from me?” He jokes. 

“It’s not a man but a horse, Harry. So handsome I could not resist, he’s stolen my heart,” she says sugary sweet while stroking the horse's forelock. 

“He’s impressive to be sure, but hardly handsome enough for the likes of you,” Harry jokes brushing his hair away from his eyes. A horse surely a joke he thinks and reaches out to touch it and he barely has time to save his fingers from the creature’s teeth. The horse shifts and another snap and he backs away. “A brute, a monster this one is,” Harry says. 

“Oh but he’s not ,” Alayne responds rubbing the beasts forehead as it bumps her side with its head. “He just needs a gentle touch and is loyal as a pup,” she continues. 

Harry sneers and takes a step forward and the horses ears fold back and stomps the ground in a threat. Harry takes two steps back. 

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” Harry concedes. He strides away angry and ready for a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a little unsure where I’m headed next with this. Love some ideas, but I’ll figure it out either way. 
> 
> Thank you for the inspiration GRRM because it not me.


	4. Burning Bridges

Alayne/Sansa

“You’ve done well sweetling,” Petyr whispers bringing her by the elbow closer to him. “Two days ago Harry was resistant to the betrothal, yesterday he asked me where to find you and how to help win your favor. I dare say you’ve nearly won him over,” Petyr smirks. 

Alayne smiles at him sweetly trying to hide her disgust, “father I merely did as you directed, Myranda was ever so helpful in picking out a dress to highlight my assets.” 

“I can see, she performed admirably,” his eyes linger on her form. 

He moved his hand slowly down her arm to her hand as he reaches for her other. He raises her hands to better appreciate her dress and she holds her breath to suppress a shiver that runs down her spine. He releases one hand and runs his own down her side. He raises the other hand higher still and she performs a graceful spin at his prompt. His eyes leer along her dress and she feels even more exposed than before. 

“Lovely my sweet,” he says to her staring at her bust line. “I can see why Harry’s affection has grown for you, maiden made flesh, ripe,” he purrs. 

She flushes with embarrassment, although Petyr will likely read it as desire. She can’t wait to be done with this game, be done with him. 

Do you have any more advice, any update on our progress,” she asks? “Tell me your plan to capture back Winterfell.”

“Oh plans are well in hand,” he catches a lock of her hair and brings it to his cheek. “I do miss the red,” he lingers. 

“We could rinse out the dye, there are those who will help me, help us. They will help Sansa Stark,” she pleads, “Yohn Royce is honorable...”

“What did honor win your father?” He asks her. “He died like the rest, he trusted the wrong people. He trusted everyone to be as honorable he was, all it won him was an date with The executioner.”

“He won my mother,” she retorts. Oh, no she thinks. She watches his eyes, that were warm and playful turn cold and calculating. I shouldn’t bring up my mother like that, he loved her and that’s why he’s helping me, his love for her. 

She tries to redirect again, “Royce was friends to House Stark, allies. My father grew up here. He can help...” 

“Yet he did not help Ned Stark in King’s Landing. He did not help Robb Stark. He did not march against orders, he stayed when his Lord commanded him. Where are his loyalties? He stayed here safe in this mountain castle with the knights of the Vale still unbloodied from war,” he hisses. 

She saw the deep breath he took attempting to regain his composure. Schooling his features. 

“The Vale is declared for the throne,” he whispers running a finger down her cheek. “How many here would sell you to the crown, the crown will pay gold to have you back.”

“But...” she starts. 

“No,” he interrupts. “No one cares for you like I do, no one else loves you like me. You will prove your virtue. Your previous wedding will be annulled. You will marry Harry. Sweet Robin will die. Harry will bed you, place an heir in you womb, then he will die too. You and I will control the Vale, we will take Winterfell, take what we want. There will be none to stop us.” 

What we want, he has no idea what she wants. So many good things, so many of her hopes have turned to ash.

“I-I understand father, I have to go,” she stumbles. Taking a step away and out of his grasp. She begins to straighten her dress but tells herself she’s brushing off the lingering touch of Petyr.

He smiles at her smugly, “come give your father a kiss,” pointing at his cheek. 

She smiles over her clinched teeth, “of course father,” she pronunciates the title to remind him and prays the kiss stays chaste. She takes a step towards him and leans placing a quick kiss on his cheek and quickly turns to sweep out the room. She can feel his lingering gaze as she walks away and feels all the more dirty for it.

She steps into the hallway, then picks up her skirts and runs, runs from Petyr, runs from the lies. She has to stop this, stop him, she cannot trust Littlefinger to keep her safe. He will only keep her as long as it benefits him then he will throw her to the lions. 

She doesn’t stop until she gets to the Godswood. It small, more garden then anything compared to the one at Winterfell, but it feels like a bit of home. The cold soothes her faster then anything else. She thinks to stop the tears that are forming behind her eyes, calm the flush on her cheeks, but instead she lets go. She let a tear escape down her cheek, then another. She lets it all out. 

She used to dream of being of being a great Lady of her husband's keep, even a Queen was her dream for a time. Stupid girl she was, she had no idea then what that meant. Today she wants much simpler things, although they were harder to achieve, near impossible now. She wants to feel safe. She wanted to be happy. She wants a family. She wants to be loved. Was that really too much to ask for? 

She will stop Petyr’s plan, she will end this somehow. She will no longer be his pawn, show him he can not control her. His plans were nothing without her. She will make her own plan, her own allies. She will make her own way, her own life. She refuses right here and now to give up.

She smooths her skirts and sits straighter on the bench.

Harry

She smells of rose water this girl. It's not right at all. The girl wasn’t tall enough either, she shifts to turn her head, he wraps his hand tighter in her hair, he doesn’t want to see her face. 

“Oh, oh, oh... milord,” she cries out with overplayed enthusiasm. 

“Stop that,” he says. 

Oh, oh... yes,” she moans. 

“Quiet, if I want to hear from you I’ll tell you what to say,” he hisses. He thrusts into her again and again, trying to set the pace he prefers. “Alayne, sweet Alayne,” he whispers to himself. 

“I like this game milord,” she says. 

He huffs, she is ruining it. He can’t focus, he has let Alayne cloud his thoughts for too long. He has to lessen his need of her. He has to clear his head. 

“Tell me you want me,” he whispers. 

“I want you milord,” she purrs. 

“Tell me I’m the only one for you, no others,” he whispers. 

“You’re the only one milord, there is no one else milord,” she says with a giggle.

“Tell me you’ll be mine, you’ll give me sons,” he growls into her ear.

“I’m yours milord, I’ll give you many-“ 

“No, you’re doing it wrong, too agreeable,” he snaps. No. No. No. Alayne will tease him, taunt him maybe even threaten him. She will demand things from him, command him. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me to prove myself. Don’t need me so much,” he growls. 

“Milord...”

“No,” he clamps his left hand over her mouth his right tightens desperately on her hip, he thrusts harder, faster trying to satiate his lust and clear his mind. “No more talking,” he commands. 

She’s soft and warm, but it’s wrong, not what he wants. He closes his eyes and pictures her... Alayne. Her coy looks, her gown, her lips, he can see it all in his minds eye. He pictures her here in this room. The front of that dress pulled down, his hand on her breast. Bent over the bed. The back skirt rucked up with only the damn bow showing as he takes her. He imagines her wet, warm, moaning his name. Wanting him, needing him, commanding him to take her. He imagines all the knights, all those who fawn over her here too, all watching him as he takes her. Takes her from them and makes her his. He starts to lose himself and spills his seed with a groan. 

He opens his eyes and the illusion is broken. He pulls out of her and backs away. “Go,” he commands.

“But...” she starts. 

“Go,” he throws a gold stag in the direction of the door. “Go, don’t come back. I don’t want to see you again.” He lays on the bed and looks toward the ceiling, “Alayne,” he whispers into the night. 

He must have dozed off he wakes slowly, his mind seams clearer now. He washes in the basin, washing the smell of that girl off him. He straightens is clothes and runs his hands through his hair. 

He can have her he tells himself. He can have whatever he wants. Soon enough he will be Lord it the Vale, he will not be denied. He takes a deep breath and enters the hall.


	5. Not a Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She sang the saddest song... a simple girl stolen away by a vain and handsome Lord to live in his castle in the clouds... her true love found her... shot arrows into the clouds with ropes attached and pulled the castle to the ground saving her...” 
> 
> “Composed it herself s-she s-said,” Wallace said smiling bumping his shoulder into Raymond’s, “ends w-well.” 
> 
> “Lovely ballad really,” Raymond agreed, “she’s a prize that one... she’d have every Lord in the seven kingdoms after her if Balish wasn’t her father. Might anyway... she’d be adored wherever-” 
> 
> “She’s not going anywhere, she staying here with me,” Harry insisted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their is some non-consenual touching in this chapter. Then some minor violence.

Sandor

His blood is up. He can still taste her on his lips. “Little Bird,” he whispers. He took her favor off Stranger and wraps it around his wrist, under his vambrace. He didn’t need to show it, to show off. 

It is the first evening of the tournament, the melee will start tonight and the joust, the main event will begin tomorrow. There are enough competitors that they are broken into four groups, last three men standing in each group will meet together in one final champion melee. This melee is on foot, damn shame, Stranger loves the competition even more then Sandor and usually could down a half-dozen men before the end. 

Sandor is ready to hit something and some knights lying bloody on the ground always makes him smile. He is half tempted to enter the joust and knock that fucker Harry off his horse. He has seen him leering after the Little Bird. 

He’d borrowed Corbrey’s squire to help with the last of his armor, though he checks after, this was Little Finger’s court no one can be trusted. Corbrey is a cocky shit but his sword backs up his mouth enough to be a good ally for the melee. They will partner up at the first part of the competition and then all bets are off.

He os missing a piece of his chest plate, but it is his strong side. Thinking back he doesn’t think he’s ever taken a hit there. His mail is top notch though, knights spent too much on plate, a good mail saves your life and leaves no open joints to stick a dagger in. The helmet he’d picked off a corpse, good one too. The dent in it probally killed the owner but even the best helmet can’t save you from a direct hit. Anyways the dent across his helm gave the air that someone got the upper hand on him, that assumption he is happy to take advantage of. Nothing makes him happier then some puffed up knight in his brand-new jeweled armor getting knocked down by him, dark, dented and dirty. 

He’s been feigning his ability too, sparring with the knights he hasn’t trained at full speed. They know he is strong, that he can’t hide, but he slows himself down, he likes them not knowing what he can do. They aren't used to a man with his reach either, he will save that for the real melee. 

He is warming up, memorizing the weight of his blunted sword and sheild. He checks his dagger at his hip and another in his boot, it isn’t good to be caught unaware. This isn’t a real fight, blunted swords and armor keep any serious injuries at bay for the most part. Its not unheard of though for a man to feel wronged and come back with live steel or a debt to be settled with a dagger in the gut and in the middle of the melee no telling who had done it. 

Then he sees her, her hair is a deep burnt brown, her eyes sparkle blue. She still had on that damn dress drawing his eye to every curve. She was on the arm of one of the Waynwood cousins. He watches discretely as he can while the knight lifts her hand to kiss it, she gives the knight a cool smile as he leaves. Sansa looks up and they lock eyes and she gives him a warm smile and he gives her a quick nod back. She sits next to that girl... Myranda and they lean their heads together giggling. 

The horns sound calling him to the field. He stays to one side, didn’t want anyone at his back. The horns sound again and he narrows his mind to focus on the fight. Two knights challenge him first, he smiles, they think they can take him together. The first knight raises his sword, but Sandor quickly brings his sword down on the man’s elbow joint, that will sting for days, the knight drops his sword and Sandor kicks him hard into the dirt. He half turns bringing his sword around to meet the other knight’s sword. He pummels him with three more blows to his sheild in quick succession, the knight sinks onto one knee. Sandor hits him in the helm with his sheild, then kicks him to the ground. Two down. 

Corbrey is finishing off his first man, Sandor steps to his left side and takes on an older landed knight. This man is more careful, seasoned in battle but his footwork is slow and the sheild is too heavy for his arm. Sandor muscles into him sheild to sheild knocking him off balance and his feet were slow to catch up. One hard hit to his shield has it on the ground, Sandor hit him with the flat of his sword on the side across his ribs then knocks his feet out from under him. He snorts, three down. 

He turns counting six left standing, ten men down total. He touches his sheild to Corbrey's in acknowledgment and they stalk toward the other four men. A knight with red feather streaming out his helmet came at him first, Sandor smiles to himself. He comes at the knight hard, his first swing the knight catches with his blade, barely, the second swing he falters and can’t hold the impact. The third and forth blows meet the knight's armor at the shoulder bringing him to his knees.

“I yield,” he hears from the knight. 

“Then get down,” Sandor growls though his helm preparing the next blow. 

The knight sinks back onto the ground bringing his sheild to protect his supine form, “I yield,” he cries out. 

Sandor laughes looking to the remaining men, Corbrey has his fight well in hand so Sandor rounds on the last two knights who are battling each other. He lands a blow on the closer man’s sheild causing the sheild to hit the ground. Then he begins to attack both knights with blows. He spares neither man from his wrath, one he will beat now, the other he will finish off tomorrow. The knight with the sheild left his flank open when he swings at the other knight. Sandor takes that moment to hit him on his side between his ribs and hip, he'll piss blood tonight Sandor laughes. Sandor then brings his sheild down across the knight's sword arm, the man loses his grip and then Sandor pushes him into the dirt. 

He turns to finish off the other knight when he hears the horns blow again, done for now he thinks. Three men left standing. He looks up for his Little Bird but she was nowhere to be found. 

—————-

Harry

“Have you seen her,” Harry demands rounding on his cousins. 

Raymond gives him a confused look for a moment then asks, “Alayne?”

“Of course Alayne,” Harry scolds, “have you seen her?”

Raymond smiles closing his eyes and tipping his chin to the sun. “Lovely Alayne...” his smile growing wider as he sings her name, “I saw her not long ago, she let me escort her from the Godswood to the tourney grounds.” 

“Is that where she is now?” He interruptes. 

“She is a v-v-vision,” Wallace stutters. “H-have y-you heard her s-s-sing,” he continues wistfully. 

“What?” Harry sputters. 

“She sang the saddest song... a simple girl stolen away by a vain and handsome Lord to live in his castle in the clouds... her true love found her... shot arrows into the clouds with ropes attached and pulled the castle to the ground saving her...” 

“Composed it herself s-she s-s-said,” Wallace says smiling bumping his shoulder into Raymond’s, “ends w-well.” 

“Lovely ballad really,” Raymond agrees, “she’s a prize that one... she’d have every Lord in the Seven Kingdom's after her if Balish wasn’t her father. Might anyway... she’d be adored wherever-” 

“She’s not going anywhere, she staying here with me,” Harry insists. 

Wallace laughes, “you s-sure about t-that,” slapping Harry on the back. 

“Not sure she likes you,” Raymond says with a knowing grin, “thought you didn’t want her anyway... being a bastard and all.” 

“No... but, yes,” Harry sputtere out, “it’s done.” 

“Is it?” Raymond questions smug smile crossing his face. 

“Mostly...” Harry replies. 

“Maybe I can get grandmother to sponsor me instead, I’ll get the keep eventually,” Raymond sighs. “Lady of our keep is s fine enough title, she’d love it there I think, she’d charm our people. I don’t think she’d like living here, in the clouds... doesn’t need to be Lady of the Vale. If that ever even happens.” 

“Where is she? Harry insists? 

“Hmmmm?" Raymond questions. 

“Where. Is. Alayne.” Harry demands?. 

“Last I saw her, she was in the stands with Myranda... I’m sure she’ll still be at the melee,” Raymond answers. “That’s the whole point of having a tourney Harry. She let me kiss her hand Harry and she said-“ 

Harry doesn’t care and doesn’t listen to his cousin as he stomps away toward the tourney grounds.

\-----------

“Alayne, darling I must speak with you,” Harry insists clutching her elbow. “Come with me,” tugging at her arm and pulling her with him behind the tents. 

“Harry, I was watching the melee, the first round just started,” she says sounding exasperated. She then scolds him, “it’s expected of me, father will be cross-“ 

He interrupts her by pulling her into a hard kiss. His arms wrap tightly around her. She struggles and bats at his chest. He doesn’t relent, one hand slides up between her shoulders and into her hair the other slides down grasping her ass and pulling her hips to his. 

“Alayne,” he whispers against her lips, breaking the kiss for a breath. It was sweet, she smells good and feels warm under his hands. 

“No, no,” she pleads pounding her fists on his chest. 

He kisses her again and pulls her closer. 

“No,” she screams through the kiss and bites his lip hard. She pulls the small blade that she had tied to her wrist and holds it up to his neck.

“You bit me,” Harry says surprised and leans away from her a hair. “You-“

“I’ll do more then that,” she says through her teeth pressing the thin blade into his skin low on his neck. The blade is sharp and he feels a drop of blood roll down his neck over his collar bone. 

“You will remove your hands from me,” she hisses. “You will NEVER presume to touch me again.”

His feeling of surprise turns into a grin, “but the game...” he laughes out. 

“I’m not playing,” she hisses back at him. “This is not a game. Take your hands off me. You will never touch me, SAY IT.”

He feels confused, “sweeting,” he pleads raising his hands and backing away a step. “The betrothal...”

“Oh that’s not happening,” she snaps. “Step away Ser,” she spits like a curse. She takes a step back distancing herself from him. “I-I never want to see you again,” her voice is starting to crack. She takes another step away. 

“Alayne... you don’t understand... I love you,” he laughes taking a half-step forward.

“Don’t say that... don’t you dare,” she growls. “You just said it was a game, you have no idea what love is,” lifting the dagger higher and pointing it at him. 

“Sweet Alayne... you will be my Lady-“ he starts.

“Never. You will never touch me again,” she says staring him down. 

“Little Bird,” he hears a low voice growl. His eyes widen, then narrow looking behind her at the giant man there. Patched armor and dented helm, the same man as before. 

She turns toward the man dropping the dagger and trying to bury her face in his chest. She looks up at him as the tears continue to fall, “he- he,” her voice breaking as tears start to fall. “He grabbed me. He kissed me. He wouldn’t let me go... not until I made him,” she sobs. 

He watches the man move his left arm around her and she melts into his arms. 

“You...” Harry spits, “she may have been yours but she’s mine now.” 

Alayne is crying shaking her head. “No, I’ll never be yours.”

“Alayne, I’ll speak with your father... it’s as good as done.”

He watches her turn towards him and square her shoulders. She’s devine he thinks, she looks nearly regal. She has fire in her eyes. 

“He’s not my father,” she says a knowing smile breaking across her face as her eyes flash cold, “and that’s not my name.”

“Alayne?” He questions. 

“No,” she says again and turns to the man, "Sandor make him stop.”

He barely sees the man move before he’s on his back a large hand closing around his throat, a knee to his chest knocking the wind out of him. 

“Alayne...” he squeaks out. 

“No,” the man says with a growl. 

The last thing he sees is a large fist coming at him him then... black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I think I mostly have a plan for where this will go, plan to map it out tonight. Thanks for reading.


	6. Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hands it to her handle first, she takes it slowly. “Next time you pull a blade on a man, you kill him. You’re lucky he wasn’t worse. Many men would steal your blade and cut your dress off with it.” 
> 
> “But...” she starts. 
> 
> “No. It’s a small thing you got there. Against a man you will only get one try. You wait, you let them get close.” He says with a growl, grabs her wrist holding the blade and steps in close to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence and injuries described.   
> Also how to exsanguinate a person is mentioned.   
> (Relive them of their blood)

Sandor 

He feels her hand on his shoulder, “Sandor... Sandor please,” she begs. “Please stop, he’s not worth it.” 

He would probably pummel this man to death if not for her request. “Fucking knights,” he spits like a curse. He turns from kneeling over the man to look at her. 

He feels her hands cup his face. He swears he can feel her soft hands even through his scars. He can’t help but lean into her touch. He was right before... she’s tamed him like a fucking beast. 

He looks down and cann’t help but smile, Harry will never be as pretty as before. Broken nose, that’s for certain. No Maester will get that nose straight again. The left side of his face is fucking swollen, may have fractured a bone in his cheek or brow. Collarbone might be busted too. Damn sure he broke a few ribs on him, the man should’ve seen it coming. Harry couldn’t have stopped it, but he should know how to take a hit better than that. This boy didn’t seem all that bright really. He won’t be forcing himself on a woman for a long time. 

He stands, making sure to step on Harry’s right hand. He bends down to pick up her blade. Pretty little thing. Good for a woman, small and discreet. 

He hands it to her handle first, she takes it slowly. “Next time you pull a blade on a man, you kill him. You’re lucky he wasn’t worse. Many men would steal your blade and cut your dress off with it.” 

“But...” she starts. 

“No. It’s a small thing you got there. Against a man you will only get one try. You wait, you let them get close.” He says with a growl, grabs her wrist holding the blade and steps in close to her. 

“One chance is all you’ll get. You bury the blade here,” pulling her wrist up and touching the tip to his neck between his gorget and his breast plate. “Here,” bringing the blade to the gap in his shoulder joint. “Or here,” pulling her hand down to to his groin and the joint there. “A man will spill out his life’s blood all those places, three soft spots on every man. You bury your blade deep, pull down to tear open the flesh and run,” he commands dropping her wrist. 

“Sandor,” she whines. Taking his hand in hers. 

“No,” he growls back. Shaking her hand loose. “Show me, show me you are a wolf,” he demands. 

“No, I won’t.” She glares at him, “I don’t want to play.” 

“It’s not a fucking game,” he growls back. “Show me.”

“No I won’t,” she declares. A tear escapes down her cheek.

He steps forward, his fingers slide into her hair and his thumb brushes the tear off her cheek. “Little Bird,” he whispers. He feels her hand press on his chest and her body press closer. 

“Sandor,” she whispers her eyes a deep blue like the sea in a storm. Then she licks her lips. 

He can’t look away. He doesn’t want to see her break, he doesn’t ever want to see her broken again. “Please...” he begs her. “Show me you can do this. Show me I don’t have to be afraid-“ 

That is when he feels the point of the blade against his thigh near his groin. She’s drawn him in closer, he’d forgotten the blade in her hand. Good placement, he’s bleed out quickly from a puncture there. She’s bested the Hound. 

“You told me I’d have to get close,” she whispers up to him swaying in her spot but not moving the blade. “You told me I’d only have one chance.” 

He takes a deep breath, and shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “I did,” he relents. He’s frozen, his hand in her hair. 

“Did I do well?” She asks. She is smiling now and her eyes brighten. 

“Yes,” he replies with a sigh. Littlefinger has taught her well. She knows how to use her words. She’s learned how to use her weapons... both sharp and soft. 

She smiles at his praise. “Will you kiss me... as a reward?” She asks looking up at him. 

“Not with a blade at my cock,” he narrows his eyes at her. 

She tips her head like in thought. “I think you hardly have a choice,” she replies and bites her lip. She pulls the blade away from him and replaces it in the sleeve of her gown. 

“Little Bird...” he growls. His right hand tightens in her hair, his left wrapping around her pressing her flush against him. He touches his forehead to hers then he dips his head to meet in a deep kiss. He can feel her relax into him and he holds her tighter. 

When she breaks the kiss she whispers against his lips, “what should we do with Harry?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to break it up into shorter chapters. I hope this will help me update faster.


	7. Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh... am I a mere ornament now?” There is a growl to her voice. “I am no trinket to adorn a castle. I am a daughter of winter and a wolf,” she smiles then. “I will forge my pack as I see fit or die trying.”

Sansa/Alayne

When Sansa breaks the kiss she asks him, “what should we do about Harry?” 

Harry,” he scoffs kicking the dirt. “I will dig a hole and drop him in it,” he offers smartly. 

She smiles at him sweetly. “What will we do then... escape to Pentos?” She asks. She sways in place looking up at him. “Will you take me to wife, make me seamstress or a washer woman?” 

“You can never be my wife Little Bird,” he grumbles. “I am just a second son to a minor house.”

“And if the Lady commands it?” She asks standing tall and proud. 

“I will do as the Lady commands, but no Lord will see you wed to the likes of me when he can claim the prize himself.” 

“Oh... am I a mere ornament now?” There is a growl to her voice. “I am no trinket to adorn a castle. I am a daughter of Winter and a wolf,” she smiles then. “I will forge my pack as I see fit or die trying.” 

“Do not speak to me of death Little Bird,” there is a sadness in his voice. “I will steal you away before I would let them harm you.” His hand comes up to cup her face and looks into her eyes. “You would take and old ugly dog to mate?” 

“A wolf and a dog,” then she smiles. “Loyalty is what matters.” She holds his hand against her cheek and leans in. “A pretty face is just decoration, it hides more then it reveals.” 

He scoffs, “I am not a knight. This is not a song.” 

“It will be,” she pulls him down and kisses him. “A dark hero saves the maiden from the arrogant Lord. It is our song and we will make it true,” she whispers and takes a kiss from his lips again. 

His eyes meet hers. “Do not make promises you cannot keep Little Bird,” he shakes his head. 

“I am not making a promise Sandor,” she cups his jaw in her hand and blue eyes meet gray. “I am making a vow.” 

“We must be smart, we must be careful,” she says and reaches up to cup his cheek. “We must not make enemies where we can have allies.”

\-----------

She ran into just the man she was looking for. “Lord Royce,” she cries out trying to get his attention. “Lord Royce,” rushing toward him. “I need to speak with you.” 

“Alayne, yes of course.” Lord Royce replies. “I best contact your father and-“ 

“No, please do not” she interrupts. "I-I have to explain, can we talk somewhere private,” she pleads. 

“Of course child,” Lord Royce. He ushers her into a small solar. “What is it my dear,” Lord Royce asks her. He takes a seat behind the large desk. He gestures to the seat opposite but she shakes her head in quiet refusal. 

“I-I am not who I said I am. I am not who Baliesh said I am.” She takes a deep breath straightening her spine and standing proud, “I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell.” 

Lord Royce meets her eyes with a soft understanding and does not look surprised. He sits tipping his head as he quietly assesses her. 

She closes her eyes, takes another deep breath, “I am sorry I lied. Lord Baliesh told me I could not trust anyone here. He said they would all betray me. That if anyone here learned the truth they would sell me to the Lannisters. Baliesh, I trusted him. I should have known better, he taught me better then that.” She paces in front of the desk where he sits. 

“I remember stories, stories my father told of the honor of the Vale. The loyalty. You were his family for a time. I am looking for that now.” She stops her pacing and faces him. She takes a breath and meets his eyes. “If I am to be betrayed and thrown in the sky cells I will do it as Sansa Stark. No more lies.” She stands proudly and awaits his judgement. 

Lord Royce nods and holds his hand up encouraging her to pause. “Lady Stark, my dear... please take the seat. I always heard Ned’s oldest girl was all Tully, a fish through and through. A Southern beauty raised in the North.” He laughs at that. “It is not true though...” he stands moving closer and lifts her chin looking in her eyes. “You are Ned’s child without a doubt. You may have the red hair and blue eyes of your mother, but it is the strength of the North that lights the fire in your eyes. The wolf’s blood that gives you the strength to stand tall persevere.” 

“The Quiet Wolf hides in you, but it’s there. The way speak, that Northern burr still lingers. Ned was always stoic, that is there when you hold your tongue and think when others would lash out to save their pride. That was our Ned. The way you pause when you speak the word ‘father’ to Lord Baliesh, the word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Then finally Lord Baliesh appears in Lysa’s Court with a bastard girl no one knew about. This bastard girl behaves like a Nobel Lady. This girl who surfaces just weeks after Lady Arryn’s neice, Sansa Stark went missing from the capital. I am not nearly as stupid as Littlefinger believes.” 

“You knew?” She questions. “You let me live in the lie?” She starts pacing again. 

“I assumed you had a need for the lie,” he responds. “If I kept quiet, I could help keep you safe. I know Lord Baliesh is not to be trusted, but he has some value.” 

“Littlefinger is not to be trusted,” she agrees. “He will betray you if he can. He insists I marry Harry.” 

Lord Royce grumbles. He then takes her hand and kisses it softly, “what service can I offer?” 

“I need allies and I need a friend,” she requests squeezing his hand. 

“You have that in me, my Lady” he assures her. 

“I need one more thing...” she meets his eyes. “I-I had an altercation with Harry. He meant to take what was not his to have, take what I as a maiden did not want to give. A man intervened in my behalf.” 

His eyes widen in shock then narrow. “I will speak to Lady Waynwood and see a punishment suitable to the crime.” Royce reassures her. 

“The debt has been paid, Harry is worse for it. My only concern is he may seek to lash out against my protector with force,” she explains with a cool tone. 

“Better than that, I will seek to reward the man to save such a Lady’s honor. Who is this man? A Knight of the Vale I hope.” Royce rounds his desk to sit again. 

“It was a man from the West, not a knight by definition, but a true knight in action.” 

“Name him,” Royce insistes with a smile. 

“Sandor Clegane,” she states simply. 

“The Hound? He’s here?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “The Butcher of the Saltpans is who you name your savior?” 

“He is no such thing,” she corrects. “He completed terrible acts of violence in his duty to the Lannisters without a doubt, but Butcher of the Saltpans he is not. I would name him my shield and my strength. I have named him my most loyal companion. I will not be separated from him.” She raises her chin finding confidence in her words. 

Royce narrows his eyes at her, then a chuckle escapes. “There, right there, the set of your jaw is the Ned I knew. The Ned I called brother. How could I deny his daughter her sword and shield.” 

“I need Sandor Clegane. I have him here I need him with me. He is true to me, through and through,” she answers simply. “He will never let anyone hurt me again.” 

“Are you certain my Lady?" he questions. “I have many a knight at my disposal that would find honor in serving and defending you. Sweet Robin loves you, he will give you any knight you wish.” 

“I am certain in my choice,” is her response sitting tall in her seat. She places her hand over his, “I have a plan, but I will need your help and the strength of the Vale. Now who can we depend on for support against Lord Baliesh?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard one to get out... politics are coming next chapter... though I had to figure it out a bit this one too. 
> 
> Thanks for being patient with the updates. I’m hoping to post another soon. 
> 
> Thank you BlueLemons.


	8. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The easiest way to get allies is through marriage. I understand Harry is out of the picture now, but there are other suitors available to you. The Waynwood cousins, two unmarried sons from Sisterton, Lord Tollett has a second son yet to wed and Ser Byron is unmarried as well." 
> 
> "I don't know what to say," she answers quietly.
> 
> "Who is this man you love?" He asks plainly. 
> 
> She bites her lip, "I know I shouldn't… I was prepared to marry Harry. Then he came back to me. I thought it was a fantasy, a love story imagined by a naive little girl. What if he is my song?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Now who can we depend on for support against Lord Baelish?" Sansa asks. 

“We can depend on Lord Horton Redfort, he is a loyal Vale man and he does not sit well with Lord Baliesh as Lord Paramount of the Vale. My cousin, Nestor Royce, I am sad to say has gained much from Lord Baliesh and will be difficult to win back.” Lord Royce shakes his head with regret. 

“Well I have Lothor Brune, he is Baliesh’s man but I know enough to convince him the tide is turning.” Sansa bites her lip and continues. “Lord Gilwood Hunter is newly risen, but Littlefinger has a plan in place to blame him for his fathers murder. If we expose the plot we can win his allegiance as well. Ser Lyn Corbrey has been bought by Littlefinger as well, but he hates the man and would sway given any reason.” 

“Lady Waynwood should be easy,” Royce offers. 

“She should be yes, but I fear it will be more difficult than it appears. Littlefinger has managed to purchase a large debt she owes and he offered to forgive it for Alayne’s betrothal to Harry. Without the marriage, Lady Waynwood is in serious peril of losing her lands.” She pauses thinking on strategies. Then she has it. “Littlefinger has been conspiring with Lord Belmore and Lord Grafton to hoard large stores of grain to raise demand therefore raising prices to crippling levels.” 

“Although underhanded, it is not a true crime.” Royce adds. 

She hums to herself, "there are greater ill deeds he is guilty of." She takes a deep breath in, "he conspired with Lady Lysa Arryn to murder Lord Jon Arryn." 

Royce's face drops, "do you have any proof of this?"

She sighs, "I do not, they argued about it. I know Littlefinger procured the poison and manipulated Lysa. She was in love with him and he let her believe he returned those feelings. When he secretly convinced Jon Arryn to foster Sweet Robin at Dragonstone with Stannis Baratheon she felt pushed to act against her husband." 

"Lady Lysa did always put too much trust in Littlefinger. I should not have stayed away, I should have been present more at court." Royce shakes his head. "The Runestone didn't need me, I failed my Lady." 

"No Lord Royce," she rises and takes his hand in hers. "Littlefinger's deception does not fall on you." 

"You are kind," he replies. He straightens his posture like to shake off the guilt. "What do we do now?" 

"We need to plan against him," she answers. "It will not be easy, he may have allies I do not know of and likely spies I am unaware of."

"The easiest way to get allies is through marriage. I understand Harry is out of the picture now, but there are other suitors available to you. The Waynwood cousins, two unmarried sons from Sisterton, Lord Tollett has a second son yet to wed and Ser Byron is unmarried as well." 

"I don't…" she starts and drops her head. 

"I see." He pats her hand gently. "My Ysilla is recently wed. She was in love with a hedgeknight from the Riverlands, she thought I didn't know, I am old not blind. She did her duty though, as her husband did his. They are both from proud houses, they will not dishonor their vows. I thought love could grow, but the love each has for another has created a cancer in their marriage. They do their duty, but the weight of it nearly drowns them." 

"I don't know what to say," she answers quietly.

"Who is this man you love?" He asks plainly. 

She bites her lip, "I know I shouldn't… I was prepared to marry Harry. Then he came back to me. I thought it was a fantasy, a love story imagined by a naive little girl. What if he is my song?" 

"He loves you?" 

She nods. 

"Not for your title?" Royce asks. 

She smiles, "no. I think he would prefer me to be a blacksmith's daughter." 

"All things are possible my dear. Who is his father? Does he have a family name?" He continues, "is he a hedgeknight? A squire? If he is a pot-scrubber this will be more difficult," Royce jokes.

"Not a pot-scrubber I assure you. He has a house, lower than mine." 

"Very few houses can compare to the two thousand year old Starks," Lord Royce grumbles. 

She nods. Dare she tell him? 

"Out with it," he insists. 

"Clegane, his house is Clegane." 

Royce looks at her with surprise. "Their reputation is fierce," he says simply. "You name him your shield, but he's more?" 

"He's everything," she admits. 

"He feels the same?" 

She nods. 

"He is not who I would have chosen for such a Lady. But it can be done." 

"Truly? Will the North accept him? Is it possible?" 

"What will you do if they refuse him?" Royce asks gently. "If they refuse you the Northern crown because of him?" 

"I," she starts. "I don't want it. I don't want the crown. It is my duty as the last Stark. I will choose him though. If they will not have him, they cannot have me." 

"Does he know that?" 

She stays silent. 

"You should tell him my dear," Royce advises. "There is no greater gift a man can receive that compares to a woman's love. Except perhaps a child born of that love." 

"Thank you, it is sound advice." 

"Advice I wish I had given my daughter," he admits. "Who knows the North may respect him. He's a fierce warrior, tall and strong. He has a proper northern look. He abandoned the Lannisters, so he has some sense. Is he brave, gentle and strong?"

"What?" She gasps. 

"It is something Jon Arryn used to demand his men to aspire to. Your father and I included. A Lord must be brave, gentle and strong. You need all three, strength is nothing if you are not brave. Strength may win power but it's gentleness and understanding that builds devotion of the people beyond fear. A gentle hand can forge peace for years. Without a gentle hand the strong and brave become hard and brutal leaders overthrown at the first opportunity. Such traits are just as important in a marriage, even more so. Is he these things for you?" 

"He is," she whispers back. "My father told me that once, I was young I didn't understand at the time." 

"But, but I am still married to Tyrion Lannister," she stutters. 

"What was Littlefinger's plan?"

"I'm not entirely sure. A septon and septa were to confirm my maidenhead, but I was to marry Harry as Alayne, not Sansa." She starts to pace. "I think he means to see Sweet Robin dead. He will then seat Harry as heir. Harry will not live past the birth of a son. Littlefinger loved my mother, I am afraid he sees me as her replacement." 

Lord Royce narrows his eyes. "He does not treat you as a daughter." 

"No," she confirms. "It is all chaste… but his stares, his touches, his kisses they make my skin crawl." 

"He dares." 

"I should have trusted you earlier," she shakes her head. 

"We have each other now," he answers. "I can start arrangements quietly, I will arrange a septon to help with the marriage annulment and you can be wed tomorrow evening after the melee completes."

"Truly, do you think this is possible?"

"I do," he answers. "Go find Clegane, tell him the news."

She turns to go, her heart feels lighter then it has in months.

"Sansa," Royce calls just before she's out the door. "I think its time to rinse out the dye from your hair and remind them who you are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally updated it I know its been months. I have not abandoned it but politics are challenging and I just haven't been motivated for this one. I do have the outline of the next chapter so hopefully I can get this updated more frequently.  
> I swear we will be back to Sansan next chapter.  
> Thank you for any who have stuck it out with me or who have taken a chance to read it.  
> I did heavily edit the previous chapters, just smoothed them out though, fixed punctuation and removed redundant POV's of scenes. No story changes.


	9. The Suitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I do not want a man willing to save Sansa Stark." She pulls the scruff on his chin, "I want the man who would save me." 
> 
> "Same fucking thing," he replies. 
> 
> "It is not," she answers. "Hundreds, maybe thousands of men would seek Lady Sansa's favor. Many would even do it for Littlefinger's bastard daughter. I only know one willing to do it for me." 
> 
> "This is not a song." 
> 
> "Isn't it?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa rushes out of Lord Royce's solar and to her own room where Sandor is waiting. She bursts through the door, slamming it behind her. She leans back against it breathless and slides the bolt to lock. 

"Lord Royce agreed," she squeaks out between breaths. He looks impossibly tall standing in her room. "We will arrive early to dinner and I will declare myself there, with Royce's support. The Lords Declarant will follow his lead."

"You are sure?" He asks quietly. He stalks back and forth. "Once you announce yourself it will draw the eyes of the crown." 

"I'm tired of living a lie," she answers, closing the distance to him. Her hands finding the neck of his jerkin, pulling him down for a kiss.

He cups her face gently, his thumb stroking her cheek. "That lie has kept you safe." 

"No, the lie has kept me hidden," she admits. "Not safe." She drops her head. "Littlefinger has taken liberties with me," her voice is barely a whisper. 

His fingers slide below her chin lifting her eyes to his. "Speak plainly," he growls. 

"He touches me. He leaves my maidenhead intact, but he treats me like a toy for his pleasure. He demands kisses. He has me sit on his lap. He presses his body into mine. He touches me. He pressures me to touch him." She feels as though her heart will beat out of her chest. She then hisses, "I won't do it anymore, I will not."

"I'll kill him," Sandor growls back. He stiffens, taking a step to the door. "Snap off his fucking head." 

"No, we must accuse him first," she insists, clutching his hand between hers. "After he stands accused the Vale Lords will see an accident as divine justice."

"Little Bird he hurt you," he pulls her against his chest. "He must suffer." 

"He will suffer when his plans unravel before his eyes," she replies. 

"He needs broken bones and blood." 

"He will have it," she reassures. She pets his chest to soothe him. 

"I will hold you to that." 

"The best part," she starts. "Royce has agreed to help annul my marriage toTyrion. He thinks we can wed as early as tomorrow after the tourney."

"You do not have to be with me, there are a hundred men that would offer you the same service. Men would line up for the hand of Sansa Stark." 

"I do not want a man willing to save Sansa Stark." She pulls the scruff on his chin, "I want the man who would save me." 

"Same fucking thing," he replies. 

"It is not," she answers. "Hundreds, maybe thousands of men would seek Lady Sansa's favor. Many would even do it for Littlefinger's bastard daughter. I only know one willing to do it for me." 

"This is not a song." 

"Isn't it?" 

He rolls his eyes and she swats his chest. "I'm no Lord," his voice is like gravel. 

"Your brother is dead, Clegane Keep is yours." 

"I'm no Lord," he repeats. "I'm not going back there." 

"What if I go?" She asks sweetly. 

"I'll follow," he sighs. "You know I will." 

"Can you see my plan has merit?"

"Aye, your plan may work. But I ask," he brushes a stray hair behind her ear. "What if I die in battle. Who will protect you? Who will marry you after a dog's been there?" 

"Is that all I am?" She pushes against his chest but he doesn't move. She raises her voice in offense. "A vessel for a man to leave his seed? Once dirtied... to be discarded?" She shakes her head. "No, I am a creature of love and hope. I will extract that love in the moments I can. I will have it from you. The pack survives." 

"Little Bird," he cups the back of her head and tips it up towards him. "I want you safe, I want you happy."

"Then you must give it to me. Kneel," she commands. She pulls him down with surprising force, now she's looking down at him. "You are what will keep me safe. You are what makes me happy." She cups his face and cards her left hand through his hair. 

He leans into her touch. "I care for you Little Bird, more than you know."

"Oh, so you care for me? Is that all?" She lowers her head and kisses him softly. 

"I love you Little Bird, you know I do." His voice pleads. "You are more than anything I could hope for in this world. More than I deserve."

She brushes her fingers through his hair again. "Sandor Clegane will you marry me?" She asks with a smile. 

"No," he shakes his head. "You don't want that." 

"I do," she insists. 

"What can a dog offer you?" He tries to shake free of her hands. 

She holds him tighter, "love. I will not give up on you because you are afraid." 

He scoffs. 

"Must I command it? Must I order you to be my husband." She presses her lips to his forehead. "Am I so terrible?" 

"The only terrible thing about you is that I cannot touch you." 

"You are to be my husband, touch me please." 

"You don't know what you are asking," his eyes darken like a thunderstorm. 

"Then show me." 

He pulls her closer, burying his nose in her hair. He stands in one swift motion, lifting her off her feet. One hand cups her ass pulling their hips together. She wants to wrap her legs around him but her legs tangle in her skirts. 

"More, more," she purrs. 

"Little Bird," he growls back. His other hand grips her hair, then with a tug it pulls her chin up exposing her neck. One of her hands clutches his bicep and the other enters his hair. His mouth is rough and warm against her neck. She groans in as warmth spreads throughout her body from his touch. Two steps and her back meets the wall, the cold stone causing her to gasp. His mouth takes hers, needy and wonderful. She tries to match him and just barely keeps up. His hips thrust into hers and she moans into his mouth. He kisses down her cheek, her jaw, her neck and down to where her bodice just covers her breasts. His teeth find the cloth pulling at her neckline. Her hands scramble to open her bodice, when a large hand captures both of hers. 

"No keep yourself laced up," his voice low. "You have your virtue left to prove. I will have you tomorrow." 

"Promise?" 

His smile is feral. "Once you are mine a thousand men could not keep me away." 

A knock at the door, "my Lady… Lord Royce has summoned you to his solar to meet with the septon," she hears through the door. 

"I will be along in a moment. Thank you," she answers. 

"Do me one boon," he growls. 

"Anything," she answers. 

"You shouldn't offer such things to a dog," his smile is dangerous. "No idea what I may ask." His eyes drag down her body causing a shiver of desire to shoot down her spine. "I just want to know one thing." 

"Ask it," she replies breathless. 

"Are you wet for me?" 

Her brows cinch in confusion. 

He leans forward and whispers in her ear. "Your cunt, your woman's place is it wet?" 

Her realization must show on her face because he smiles back. 

"Show me," he commands. 

"H-how?" 

"Touch yourself," he growls. He grabs her hand and kisses her palm. "Show me." 

She likely blushes red as her hair. She turns her back to him and starts to pull up her skirts. 

"Shy now?" He taunts. He steps up behind her pressing against her. One of his hands finds her hip. 

'Maiden give me strength,' she thinks. Her husband-to-be is a brute. Once she is under her skirts her fingertips dip into her small clothes. He was right, she is warm and wet. She removes her hand, letting her skirt fall back into place. She raises her hand, she can see a sheen upon her fingertips. 

Quicker than she could believe, he grabs her wrist and spins her around to face him. He seems to examine her fingers closely, "it's true the Little Bird wants me." 

"I do," she answers. 

His eyes snap to meet hers. That dangerous smile is back. His eyes don't leave her as he licks her fingers before sucking them into his mouth. "Just a taste," he whispers before kissing her lips. "Now go see the septon, you'll be mine tomorrow." He smacks her backside as she shuffles to the door. 

"Oh dear," she whispers to herself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that escalated quickly. Not quite what I had planned but sometimes it takes a different path.  
> This Sandor may be completely smitten with her but not completely tame either. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	10. The Vow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She only huffs a reply taking the half stairs down into the yard. A light dusting of snow crushes beneath her feet. It’s a short trip to the stable, she bursts through the door and marches down to Strangers stall. 
> 
> "So you mean to leave me before we are even wed?" She growls at him. 
> 
> "We can't-" he starts. 
> 
> "Oh we can, I had it worked out. Planned. Am I so hard to love?" 
> 
> "You know it's not that," he snaps back. 
> 
> "So Sandor Clegane is afraid of a Little Bird," she mocks, her hands finding her hips. 
> 
> "You know I’d do anything for you," he growls. 
> 
> "But not this? You are the problem." 
> 
> "Exactly." 
> 
> "Than who? If not you, who should I marry?" She's so angry she could spit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She did it. Well Lord Royce helped tremendously but it was done. Littlefinger was outed at dinner in front of the Lords Declarant and other nobles of the Vale. Once she disclosed a few of Littlefinger's shadier dealings the arguing began. Although she had no proof beyond her witnessing Lysa's confession, Littlefinger's manipulation of Lysa caused Jon Arryn’s death and later the death of the Lady herself. They all knew he was a snake in the grass, a liar, they just needed the push to declare him as such. It all happened rather smoothly. Littlefinger's plots were so intertwined once one or two knots were loosened the whole thing fell apart. It wasn't long before they were calling for his execution. Finally justice will be served. 

She also announced her true name. She was greeted by each Lord, heir and knight in turn. She was no longer Littlefinger's bastard daughter, she is Sansa Stark. The sheer surprise and embarrassment on Harry Hardyng’s bruised face was priceless. On her stroll back to her rooms, Lothor Brune on her heels, she had to resist the urge to skip and sing. 

She wouldn’t see Sandor tonight but by this time tomorrow they would be wed. She knew he was nervous, becoming her husband would bring him to the attention in the Vale, the North and the South. It will all be worth it. She is sure of it. Lord Royce had already discussed the knights of the Vale helping her to reclaim Winterfell. The thought made her sad at first, her siblings were all gone. Well maybe Arya was still alive but she had four brothers to inherit ahead of her. She had never considered being the Lady of Winterfell. She was raised to marry a Lord and become Lady of his lands. It is bittersweet the idea of going home, but it is her duty. Enough of despair and regret, she is to be wed tomorrow. 

She spends the rest of the evening picking out a dress for tomorrow. Not the red, not the green, definitely not the black, though Sandor would likely love it. She laughs to herself, he would probably prefer her in the short lace shift Myranda had gifted her or even less. She blushes thinking of their last time alone. He was a man, a demanding man. Not a fawn, not a kitten and definitely not a flower. He was a man with needs, likely to even command her to do things she has never imagined. “Gods be good,” she whispers. 

She chooses the navy dress with black ribbons and lace criss-crossing the bodice. It was low cut in the front and tight showing her womanly figure without being indecent. The deep blue compliments her eyes and will make her skin and hair glow in the dim light of the fast approaching winter. She will wash the dye from her hair tonight. Everyone now knows she is Sansa Stark, she intends to show them. 

She picks the ribbons and jewels for her hair and the necklace she will wear. She goes over the plan for tomorrow. Bright and early the tourney will begin, she will wear her powder blue dress, her hair will be simply braided. She will watch the joust with as much enthusiasm as she can muster, then the melee. Even though no one knows they are to be wed she will get to watch and cheer for him as he beats the knights into the ground. After all the prizes have been dispersed she will quickly wash and change, ready to marry. It will be perfect. 

She closes her eyes and tries to sleep, she's just too excited. Her eyes land on the book Myranda left. Myranda is a good friend, she wasn’t sure if she could be wholly trusted but she has learned so much from the strong willed woman. She should give the book a try. Right? She takes it from the table and settles it on her lap. She reads the cover aloud, “The Art of Love and Pleasure.” She starts to open it, then closes it again. Should she read it, what if Sandor wanted her pure and innocent.That’s what her Septa taught her. She giggles, no she needs to know something or that man will eat her alive. She opens it to the first page and gasps at the sketch of a fully naked man and woman on full display. “Oh dear,’ she whispers. Outlining the man's forms with her finger, he looks very different from what she remembers of her naked little brothers. She shrugs, “I guess it grows as the man does. Sandor is such a large man, oh dear.” She flips through the pages, her eyes widening at some of the ways a man and woman can come together. She has much to learn, she is so focused she doesn't even notice slipping off to sleep. 

The tourney that morning was amazing. Eight champions of the joust were chosen to be Winged Knight’s and serve Lord Robin for three years. She had originally expected Ser Lyn Corbray to win the melee, but that was before Sandor entered as a mystery knight. The two of them together made quick work of the other knights in the melee until they were the last two remaining. It didn’t take long before Sandor made the winning blow. He struck Ser Corbray so hard it dented his breastplate and left him panting for breath in the dirt. Watching him easily overcome all that stood against him gave her a strange sense of pride and lit a desire for him inside her. When the gold was awarded Sandor refused to remove his helmet and cowl keeping his identity secret a bit longer. 

She was waiting, no she had been waiting. Now it was obvious he was late, obviously late. Lord Royce was going to walk her to the Sept once Sandor arrived. Twice now they had sent a boy to see if the relay had been delayed, twice now the boy had returned reporting the groom had not yet arrived. Twice. She had been ready near a half-hour early. She had been bathed, dried, perfumed and powdered before even stepping into her gown. The gown had been a whole different ordeal. Stays, hose, underskirts, the underdress, the over dress, the jewels. She had wanted to be perfect. And he had the nerve to be late. She’s had enough. “I will find him,’ she announces heading out the door. 

Lord Royce starts to object.

She stops him with a look, “I will find him.”

“But-” Lord Royce starts.

“Can you think of another to send in my place? If Ser Corbray hasn’t drug him here yet there is a problem. I will be back. Wait for me outside the Sept.” She storms off without another word. 

"Where is he?" She asks Ser Corbray when she finds him in Sandor’s room. 

"He said he needed a moment." 

"Where is he?" She demands impatiently. 

"The stable," Corbary answers. "With that beast of a horse." 

She turns stomping down the hall. 

"I'll marry you if you need it, we could manage." Ser Corbray calls as he starts after her. 

"Quiet," she grumbles over her shoulder, "or I'll tell him you said that." Two more turns and she pushes through the outer doors, Corbray just a few paces behind. 

"Don't tell him," Corbray whines. "I like my nose the way it is." 

She only huffs a reply taking the half stairs down into the yard. A light dusting of snow crushes beneath her feet. It’s a short trip to the stable, she bursts through the door and marches down to Strangers stall. 

"So you mean to leave me before we are even wed?" She growls at him. 

"We can't-" he starts. 

"Oh we can, I had it worked out. Planned. Am I so hard to love?" 

"You know it's not that," he snaps back. 

"So Sandor Clegane is afraid of a Little Bird," she mocks, her hands finding her hips. 

"You know I’d do anything for you," he growls. 

"But not this? You are the problem." 

"Exactly." 

"Than who? If not you, who should I marry?" She's so angry she could spit. "I’m exposed now, I'm Sansa Stark again. They will beg me to marry, then insist, then drag me down the aisle. Cersei will come for my head. The Boltons may come to spill my blood. The North may even come to shackle me to a throne." 

"Little Bird-" 

"No who?" She barks back. "Should I grovel to Harry, beg his forgiveness? Let him take me to wife, then whore himself to any woman he sees fit? Should I wait for the Bolton heir? Have you heard of the Bolton’s in the Southern court? He killed his first wife, let her starve locked in a tower to gain her lands. They say horrible things happen to women in the Dreadfort. You know a Stark woman has not married a Bolton heir in two-hundred years, not since she was skinned alive by her husband. They say I'm fair of face maybe he will take me? Is that what I should hope for? " 

"Don't say that. You know-" 

"What do I know the man I love refuses me. The man who said he'd never lie to me… that he would keep me safe. He denies me. So whom shall I marry?”

“Sansa,” he argues. “Be reasonable.” 

"Reasonable, sure. There's Stannis, his wife has given him no sons, maybe he'd take me as his second wife. If he's to be King who would stop him? Karstark has one heir still alive last I heard. The Waynwoods? SweetRobin? Littlefinger? Corbray?" 

She is so angry, so tired. She falls to her knees in the hay. "Why can't you love me? Why not?" 

He moves to her, his eyes narrow. "Get off the fucking floor." He offers his hand and pulls her up. His hands clamp around her face holding her tight. His eyes are like smoke. "You want this? You want to be bound to a battered and burned dog?" 

She narrows her eyes at him and sets her jaw, "I do," she says simply. 

"This is forever," he demands. "I'll never let you go. You will never have your white knight. Never have a golden prince." 

"I hate knights and princes," she snaps back. "I want you, only you. Forever." 

His gaze is harsh, he examines her face, her lips, her eyes. Then his eyes soften, "fine, have your way. You're mine though." He swings her up into his arms bridal style. Her hands link behind his neck and she stretches to kiss his neck. 

"You mean it. You'll marry me."

“I’d be a fucking fool not to," he answers.

"Good, you finally came to your senses." 

"Where's the Sept? We're late aren't we?" 

She points out the way. He marches all the way to the Sept with her in his arms. She can hear a clatter of laughter and jests as they near the doors. Lord Royce is waiting there for her. 

"So you can set me down here and go inside. Lord Royce will stay with me, I’ll meet you at the altar." 

"Nope," is his only answer. He kicks open one door and shoulders through the other with her still in his arms. 

"Sandor," she scolds quietly. “It’s not proper.” 

“Best to start getting used to that Little Bird.”

There is a look of shock on the guests faces and gasps of surprise. They were seated and standing waiting for the unknown bride and groom to appear. Sandor continues with her down the aisle, finally setting her on her feet before the Septon. 

The Septon himself looks slightly confused at the display, but shakes it off. "Who comes here today to bind their lives and hearts as one?” 

"I am Sansa of House Stark," a rush of whispers from the guests as she continues. "Daughter of Eddard Stark. I come to be bound to this man." 

She looks up to Sandor. "I am Sandor of House Clegane. I come to be bound to this woman." 

The voices in the crowd are louder now. She can see the doubt return to his eyes, she reaches for his hand holding his index and middle fingers. His eyes land back on hers. “You and me,” she whispers, “you and me.” He nods and his eyes soften but his posture remains stiff. 

The Septon clears his throat uncomfortably. "Um, please cloak the Lady and bring her under your protection." 

He unhooks his cloak and drapes it over her shoulders. "Forever," Sandor whispers to her. The cloak is dark and heavy, the weight reassures her this is all finally real.

"Forever," she answers. 

"Your hands," the Septon interjects. Sandor holds out his left palm and she offers her right. They lace their fingers together as the septon binds their hands with a black sash. 

"Now the vows." 

They repeat the words as one, "Father, Warrior, Smith, Mother, Maiden, Crone and Stranger." 

“I am his and he is mine." 

“I am hers and she is mine." 

“You will seal your vows with a kiss,” the Septon finishes. 

Sandor’s left hand is still bound to hers, his right hand finds her jaw tipping her face up as their eyes meet. “Mine,” he whispers as he takes her lips in a far from chaste kiss. He shakes his left hand loose from the bindings and tosses the sash over his shoulder. “Mine,” he repeats. He grasps both her hands in his left, pulling her near and easily hitches her over his shoulder like a Wildling patting her arse with his right hand. “Mine, he repeats again as he strides down the aisle. The guests all seem to voice their disapproval, she should have predicted this. It is all very Sandor. She lifts her body slightly, smiling at the guests as they exit the Sept. Sandor turns right, instead of left. 

"Ser, there is a feast," a servant offers, pointing to the left. 

"Not a Ser. It will have to wait, I have more important business to attend to.” His steps never pause. “Be back in an hour," he smacks her backside and shrugs. "Or two." 

He doesn't pause until arriving at her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're married. Finally. I had a bit more written, but this seemed the place to stop. Next chapter should hustle along here soon. I'm to the end of my tentative outline and gave to map out where to go from here. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.


	11. Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shifts her down as they near her chamber. Her legs tangle in her skirts but he pulls her against him, chest to chest and presses her back against the door. She waits for his kiss but his eyes travel her face instead, his gaze feels heavy. He frees his left hand and brings her hair to his nose. “Mine,” he whispers. He seems to be breathing her in. He buries his head into her neck then, she can feel the drag of his nose against her skin and his hot breath sends a shiver of want through her body. “All fucking mine,” she hears again. 
> 
> “Touch me, kiss me… please,” she begs him. Her hands scramble to pull him closer. The leather of his jerkin is rough against her hands. She feels too hot, too confined as she tries to wrap her legs around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He shifts her down as they near her chamber. Her legs tangle in her skirts but he pulls her against him, chest to chest and presses her back against the door. She waits for his kiss but his eyes travel her face instead, his gaze feels heavy. He frees his left hand and brings her hair to his nose. “Mine,” he whispers. He seems to be breathing her in. He buries his head into her neck then, she can feel the drag of his nose against her skin and his hot breath sends a shiver of want through her body. “All fucking mine,” she hears him rumble. 

“Touch me, kiss me… please,” she begs. The leather of his jerkin is rough against her hands as they scramble to pull him closer. She feels too hot, too confined as she tries to wrap her legs around him. 

He huffs a laugh and licks her neck. It's warm, slow and wonderful. It makes her toes curl and her head tilt back. 

“Sandor please,” she whines. Her left hand grips the hair on the back of his neck and the other pulls at the neck of his jerkin. “Off, off, I need you.” 

He chuckles at her pleas, kissing and sucking at her neck. “I've never been with a woman, I mean to enjoy it. Savor every bite.” 

She looks at him surprised. "What? How is that possible." 

“Only whores. I’ve only been with whores, woman paid to be with me. It can't be the same.” He hitches her up again and pushes through the door. He turns, barring the door with his free hand, then pushing her against it again. His left hand cradles her head, his thumb brushes her jaw. His lips just brush hers as he whispers, “mine.” 

She answers back with a breathy, “yours.” He attacks her with a kiss, his mouth is fierce and demanding. He growls into her mouth and a moan escapes her. 

"We will find our way,” she hums. “Myranda has told me many, many interesting things about bed play."

"Bed play?" He scoffs. 

"Yes," she hums and kisses him deeply, her fingers stroking his neck. "She gave me a book with illustrations demonstrating..." 

She's interrupted by the ripping of her dress. 

"So many clothes," he mumbles. He licks the curve of her breast before maneuvering it free, taking her nipple in his mouth to suck it gently. His hands slide down her back to her arse pulling her by her hips into him. He licks and pecks firm kisses to her breast."Just want it to be good for you."

One of her hands cards through his hair holding him steady at her breast. "It's good, so good." Her other hand follows the line of his collar to shoulder and bicep. Then his hand captures hers and brings it behind her back. "Please," she squeals out. 

"Little Bird I've dreamed of this for so long. How can I believe it's real?"

"Believe it's real," she whispers. She collects his chin in her free hand and pulls him up till their eyes meet. "I'm here, here with you. This is real. You can see me, hear me, touch me, feel me."

"Taste," he answers, "I'll taste you too." Taking her lips before moving to her neck. 

"You can. With all we've gone through it's no more than we deserve." 

He pauses his attentions. She looks into his gray eyes, they are searching her for a lie, they will not find one. "Little Bird, it's a dream I don't deserve."

"You do though, you saved me. You love me... if it's a dream, I'll live it with you forever. If it's a dream it is a beautiful one, like a song. Make me yours." 

He drops his forehead to hers. "It will hurt Little Bird. I don't want to hurt you."

"The pain will be brief and I will be forged anew. I will no longer be a daughter of Winterfell, I will be your wife." 

"Wife," he repeats nuzzling his nose into her hair. "My wife."

"Husband," she declares her hand brushing through his hair. "Make me yours… please." 

"Such courtesies, will my wife speak so sweetly when I'm buried in her cunt. When I feast upon her? Let's see." He spins on his heels and strides quickly to the bed. He lays her down gently and pecks a short kiss to her lips. He grabs the remains of her gown and rips it the rest of the way down. He takes his dagger out and deftly cuts a notch in the top of her stays and small clothes before ripping those apart too. 

She sits up for a moment shrugging out of the sleeves of her gown. She lifts her chin to kiss him but he pushes her back to lie flat on the bed. "Stay," he commands. He shucks off his jerkin and tosses it aside. She starts to scoot back in the bed making room for him. He grabs her ankle pulling her back to him. “No,” he leans over her, his hands on each side of her holding him high above her. “I said stay,” he commands softly. He nudges her legs apart with his knees and settles himself between her legs, pressing his lower half against her naked body. 

She groans and arches up into him. “Please,” she pleads, “please, please, please.” 

He catches her chin holding it tight. “Too fucking sweet,” he grumbles just an inch between their lips. She struggles against him to try for a kiss. He just laughs before tilting his head and licking across her lips. He moves quickly and she gasps as he takes her nipple in his mouth again. This time is different, he sucks it hard twice and then drags his teeth across the tip before moving further down. “Wonder if you taste that sweet everywhere?” He mumbles, his breath hot against the skin of her belly. 

“Sandor,” she whines. 

“Say that again,” he commands. He kisses her belly and drops away from her sight. He pulls her legs up over his shoulders. 

“Sandor what-” she starts. “Sandor?” She keens as her whole body shudders. He mumbles a response she cannot understand, the vibration causing her to cry out his name again. She can feel him against her, his lips, his tongue, his breath. He’s lapping at her like a dog. She hears a muffled chuckle and, and something is happening. He moves faster and faster. It feels so good, but something is coming. She’s tight, taut, like she's overfilled and going to burst. It’s all too much, but she still craves more. She reaches one hand down, tangling it in his hair pulling him closer with the rhythm he's set. Her other hand searches for a hold and she grips the sheets on the bed. He presses harder into her then his lips... “Sandor. Oh, oh,” she gasps. She arches and keens. Her body takes on a life of its own, bucking and writhing beneath him. She tries to hold it in but a moan, nearly a howl escapes her lips. His attentions slow, now just lapping slowly at her whispering things she can't quite hear. She just hums in reply. 

“Little Bird,” he says, his voice low. He stands and his hands move pulling his clothes off to pile on the floor. “Just as sweet as I imagined.” 

She watches him undress, but her body feels languid and satisfied. She manages to motion him to her with her hands. “Husband,” she whispers. 

“Wife,” he returns standing before her naked. He the Warrior himself, tall and strong. He moves over her sliding his right arm under her shoulders. “Mine,” he growls. He lifts her then, dragging her up the bed till they are settled in the middle. 

Her hand comes up to cup his face gently. “Kiss me,” she begs. “Make me yours.” 

“Little Bird,” he says gently. Her body cradles his, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss that quickly turns demanding. It’s then she feels his length press against her. Then pressure, she feels full, then more. There’s a slight pain in the pressure, then a sharp pinch. He swallows her cries with his kiss, she focuses on his mouth and soon the pain is gone. 

“Fuck Little Bird,” he groans. “Touch me.” 

One of her hands finds the nape of his neck stroking it with each thrust. The other finds his hip and lower back, she pulls him closer with each move he makes. His weight pushes her into the bed and it all feels so good. She breathes out his name, “Sandor, Sandor.” His pace increases, moments later he buries his head in her hair and growls out a moan. He continues his movements for a few more thrusts before slowing to a stop. His eyes are closed and his breathing is ragged. 

“Sandor, I’m yours,” she whispers. His eyes snap to hers. He looks at her so gently, vulnerable even. She smiles up at him. “Husband,” she cards her hands through his hair. His body shifts and he starts to pull away, but she holds him close guiding his head to pillow on her chest. He shifts slightly, the majority of his weight resting on his side now. She holds him close her fingertips just grazing his scalp. She wonders for a moment when was the last time someone cared for him? The last time someone comforted him, the last time someone held him in loving arms? She vows to herself here and now to be that for him. To be there for him. He is a hard man, she will be his softness. She will keep him safe, keep his heart safe and he will be stronger for it. 

She giggles when she hears a soft snore from him. He is her’s, finally her’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally the smut has happened.  
> I do think its more than that. I thought of adding it earlier bit they needed to wait. I do really feel as much as Sandor wants her he might n=be nervous too. Nervous to marry, nervous to have sex... at first. But.. now its on and I don't believe he will be a man easily satisfied and more than a little demanding. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love to see your comments and suggestions, but that's up to you.

**Author's Note:**

> This will be my first posting ever. I have loved reading works on here so much I feel I should at least try to participate. I’m typing on my phone on a slow night at work so please forgive my unbeta’d work. Feedback is great I’m just learning. Here goes nothing. Covers eyes and waits!!  
> Ps: I own nothing, thanks GRRM!!


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